that's the pain, cuts a line down the heart (we called it love)
by katanafleet
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie who is in possession of brains must be in want of more brains. It is also known that a man who fights alone must desire a woman of character and loyalty, his equal, to fight at his side. [pride and prejudice and zombies/ouat au]
1. Prologue

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie who is in possession of brains must be in want of more brains. It is also known that a man who fights alone must desire a woman of character and loyalty, his equal, to fight at his side.

The scourge of undead began with the Black Plague. (It was assumed, of course, that this plague came from France.) In time, after the plague had run its course and nearly one-third of the population of the colonies was counted among the deceased, the dead started to rise, much to the shock and dismay of the loved ones they had left behind.

These beings, soon termed 'zombies' by the common or 'unmentionables' by the refined, all awoke with an insatiable hunger for flesh. Once they obtained a taste of human brain, they became like animals, seeking nothing but brains and more brains. There were groups of people who believed that the alarming side effects of being a zombie could be slowed by consuming brains from other mammals, but this scheme never succeeded for a notable amount of time, save for in one small infamous church.

In time, all of the dead became zombies, and they walked or crawled through the countryside or town, searching for another victim to devour. Therefore, it became fashionable to study the deadly arts of the Orient to attempt to combat the zombie scourge. Save for destroying the skull of the zombie and thereby what remained of its brain, there was no stopping the herd of undead.

Many said that the zombies were the first sign of the apocalypse.

After the initial panic, Storybrooke created a barren land around its borders, and then a large moat directly around the town. The land was called the In-Between, and four bridges connected the town to the In-Between. The unmentionables gradually learned the ways of bridges and three of the connections were destroyed in an organized attack on the city. The mayor of the great town, who was reportedly driven mad upon seeing his people slaughtered by the masses of zombies, ordered the destruction of all but one, leaving only Hingham Bridge.

Over time, the plague of the rising dead slowed, and the wealthiest families of Storybrooke ventured past the walls and created their own villages and homes beyond the In-Between. Lady Cora de Bourgh, said to be the fiercest zombie hunter throughout the colonies, was one of the first to create such a home, and her estate, Rosings Park, was perhaps the most secure place in all of Maine.

Her nephew, Killian Darcy, was one of the most powerful warriors against the zombies. It was he, Colonel Darcy, who was called to battle if a zombie outbreak was present in a country home.


	2. Chapter 1

The guards in front of Netherfield cocked their muskets. "Who rides there?"

The man in black jumped down from his horse and the men trained the guns at his face. "I am Colonel Jones," he said, his accent crisp around his tense tone. The guards stepped forward to examine his features closely, holding their guns closer to their bodies.

Killian stepped forward, handed his sword to the guard in command, and jumped into the examination room beneath his feet.

The doctor of the home, his hair bleached, completed the examination with care, his eyebrows jumping into his hair every so often.

"Are you quite satisfied, Whale?" Killian asked drily.

"Not a mark on this _pristine_ body." Whale grinned up at the colonel. "You're not a zombie, that's for sure," he said salaciously. Killian rolled his eyes and pulled his clothing back on. It was, without a doubt, one of the most thorough examinations he had ever been given.

"How did you ascertain that the wound on my ribs was from a sword?" Killian asked, his eyebrow raised. He straightened his coat on his shoulders.

Whale glanced up at him in confusion. "I've been at this a long time, Colonel. Ever since the zombie outbreak first began."

Killian smirked and leaned close to the doctor. "I have no wound," he breathed into Whale's ear. He made his way to the exit, his eyes dancing. The doctor was left somewhat flustered.

A maid announced him and Killian awaited the frustration that his presence would evoke. "Mr. Jones!" the woman of the house, Mrs. Tremaine, exclaimed when Killian stepped into the room, her hand resting on her heart. "Is there a problem?" Frustration indeed.

"Colonel Jones, ma'am, I'm here on official business. And aye, there has been an alert of a zombie present in this household."

"What? There are no unmentionables here," she insisted.

"I therefore trust you shall not protest if I perform my own search," Killian replied, reaching into his vest pocket as he sat at a card table. The woman shook her head in consternation, both at the well-known Colonel Jones being in the room and that he suspected a zombie to be in attendance. Her party was well-nigh ruined.

Killian pulled out the vial of his flies and pulled out the stopper. Slowly the flies emerged from the glass. "Colonel, what are those?" the corpulent man sitting next to him asked.

"They are carrion flies," he replied, glancing down at his cards. "They are in possession of but one truly enviable talent. The ability to detect dead flesh." The young girl standing next to Mrs. Tremaine blanched.

"The buzzing is frightfully loud!" Mrs. Tremaine's mother exclaimed.

"Aye, that it is," Killian said, tossing a coin into the center of the table. He glanced up at the young girl. "However, it is not the buzzing that should concern you, madam. It's rather if the buzzing stops that we should fear."

The game continued for another minute. The buzzing slowed and Killian sighed, for there was a zombie in the midst of the soberly jolly crowd as he predicted. Then Killian ceased to hear the last fly. He looked up and, as he had suspected, the flies were trotting around on the face and neck of the large man next to him. The zombie's eyes slowly turned red, something in what remained of his brain cells acknowledging his status among the undead. Killian finished his rum, slammed his glass onto the table, and shattered it with a slight sigh; he had hoped that the report was false.

Then he stood and stabbed the zombie in the chest with the broken goblet, knocking it to the ground. Several in the room screamed as he drew his dagger and sliced the unmentionable in the throat. Blood splattered across the floor and Killian's clothing, then he beheaded the zombie. He looked down at the creature for a sign of fake life. None; a job well-done.

When the body had been safely disposed of, Killian asked Mrs. Tremaine, "Is there anyone else he could have bitten? A relative, perhaps?"

"No!" the woman exclaimed. He cleaned his dagger and watched her face for signs of untruth. She appeared confident, enough that Killian was secure in leaving the estate.

Weeks later he learned from the party's single survivor that the man had had a niece. Mrs. Tremaine's stepdaughter had run upstairs to check on her and had found the girl feeding on the brains of a servant. The entire party, save this shaking survivor, Mrs. Tremaine's stepdaughter, had been quickly disposed of and made into the undead.

That afternoon, he vowed never to make such a mistake again.

* * *

"Mr. Bennet, have you heard the news? Netherfield Park is let at last!"

"Who has taken it?" George Bennet asked his wife mildly, not stopping in sharpening his blade. To Mr. Bennet's mind, few things were more important than a dagger's sharpened edge.

Ingrid Bennet exclaimed, "A young man named Bingley. He has four thousand pounds a year, and he's single! What a wondrous thing for our daughters!"

"Whatever can you mean, my dear? How can this influence our _warrior_ daughters?" Mr. Bennet asked his wife impertinently, testing the knife's edge on his thumb and placing it on the desk in satisfaction as he reached for a handkerchief to mop up the blood.

His wife sighed, looking down at her husband's latest wound. "Mr. Bennet, why must you be so tiresome? You know I mean that he must marry one of them!"

Their daughters looked up from their own weaponry. Emma rolled her eyes while Mary Margaret, Regina, and Zelena shared excited glances. Belle merely straightened her glasses and looked back down at _The Art of War_ in her lap.

"Is there going to be a ball in Meryton in honor of his arrival, Mother?" Zelena asked, laying her sword down with little care. Emma winced at the scratch of metal in wooden table.

"There is, darling," Mrs. Bennet replied. Regina and Zelena squealed and Belle and Emma rolled their eyes. Mary Margaret polished her sword with a smile.

Emma continued to clean her pistol with a vengeance. She was the most determined of the Bennet girls, the one most willing to fight, the one who most preferred practicing with her sword to learning culinary or household arts that her mother longed to teach. Because of this, she was her father's favorite and her mother's least-favorite. Despite these warrior skills, she was, aside from her eldest sister, the Bennet with the best manners in polite society. "I don't care to go. Frankly, I don't fancy being led like a herd of heifers before an auction."

"Don't worry, Emmy, darling," Zelena said. "None of the men fancy you, anyway. You shall be able to destroy unmentionables and polish your sword straight into spinsterhood." Regina giggled. Emma glanced at her father; Mr. Bennet nodded approvingly at his favorite daughter. Zelena added one more syllable. "Moo."

Emma turned away from her father and glared at her sister. Then she tossed her pistol onto her chair as she stood. Zelena shrieked and jumped up, running toward the training basement. Emma chased after her sister, letting out her battle cry. Their sisters, laughing, followed them.

* * *

The ball at Meryton, a town several miles from Storybrooke and a mere half-mile from Longbourn, was the next night. Mary Margaret helped Emma with her hair, and Emma pulled at Mary Margaret's corset strings until her sister gasped. All five sisters buckled on their holsters and placed a knife or pistol into each. If there was one thing their father and their training had taught even the least interested of the girls, it was the necessity of preparedness.

Unmentionables attacked even the most protected of homes.

The ball was in full swing, Emma sitting next to Mary Margaret and Belle a few seats behind them. Belle, as always, had her nose buried in her book; she was the least socially-inclined of the sisters and hated balls, although Emma believed a certain man Belle had only called Mr. Gold had something to do with her particular lack of inclination towards the other men. Emma leaned into Mary Margaret's arm and shouted, "You are, as always, the most beautiful in the room!"

Mary Margaret laughed, glancing at the dancers. "The men aren't all bad," she shouted back. "You will find someone, Emma, who could induce even you to lay down your sword." She patted Emma's arm and looked back to the dancers.

"I shall never relinquish my sword for a ring," she said airily, glancing about the room at the different couples dancing in swaths of colorful cloth. The reason for Belle's marked lack of interest in the dance was suddenly clear; the mysterious Mr. Gold was clearly not in attendance.

"You will if you find the right man," Mary Margaret grinned.

"The right man won't ask me to," Emma quipped back.

Mary Margaret smiled, probably about to give a speech that Emma and Regina had dubbed "hope speeches," when she was interrupted.

Then the doors next to them opened, and two men and a woman stepped into the room. The ballroom quieted, the dancers noticing the guests. Sir Lucas, the father of Emma's best friend Ruby, stepped forward and greeted the men as the band began the music once more.

Ingrid Bennet ran up to her daughters, weaving surprisingly gracefully through the dancers. "Come, girls!" she cried.

Sir Lucas performed the introductions with his usual lack of grace. "Mr. Bingley, may I introduce Mrs. Bennet, Miss Mary Margaret Bennet, Miss Emma Bennet, and Miss Belle Bennet."

"I have two others also, but they are already dancing," Ingrid put in, motioning toward Regina and Zelena. Emma sighed; her mother's determination to rid herself of her five daughters was evident to the entire room. Of course, this goal had been clear since Mary Margaret turned eighteen and it was slowly evident that no son would be added to the Bennet home.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," Mr. Bingley said. He was, Emma was amused to note, barely able to keep his eyes from Mary Margaret.

"And may I introduce Colonel Darcy of Pemberley," Sir Lucas continued. Emma curtsied with her sisters and glanced up at Colonel Darcy. He was staring at her; their eyes, keen blue and sharp green, connected for a moment before both turned away. Emma glanced back a few moments later, just long enough to note the man's features; he was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she'd ever seen. His body showed acuity in the art of war and his face displayed confidence and intelligence.

"May I request your company for the next two dances, Miss Bennet?" Mr. Bingley backtracked quickly, the mark of a true, humble gentleman. "That is, if you are not engaged."

Mary Margaret blushed prettily. "I am not engaged."

Mr. Bingley's smile grew and he held his hand out to Mary Margaret. She rested her hand in his, allowing herself to be led to the line of dancers.

Another hour found Emma sitting and watching the dancers, wishing only slightly that she was with them. Mr. Bingley, who had been forced to hand Mary Margaret off to someone else, stared at her longingly for a moment, then walked off to stand next to Killian Darcy.

"Come, Darcy, you can't just stand here. Find a partner and dance!"

Emma watched as Abigail Bingley started to say, "I'm not engaged at the moment, Colonel—" but was interrupted by Darcy.

"You know I despise dancing when I am not acquainted with my partner. And besides, you were dancing with the only handsome girl in the room." Darcy indicated Mary Margaret. Abigail huffed and turned away from her companions, stomping off towards a table of refreshments.

"She is the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld," David Bingley said fervently. "Her hair flows about her like a gentle curtain, and her eyes absolutely sparkle."

"Lovesick again, Bingley?" Darcy asked drily.

David continued without acknowledging his friend's comment. "But there are many other pretty girls here. There's one of her sisters, there behind you."

Darcy turned and caught Emma's eye for a moment but turned back to his friend quickly. "She is… tolerable, I daresay."

"Ask her to dance," Bingley urged. Darcy rolled his eyes and stepped over to her, requesting pleasure of the dance. Emma raised an eyebrow at the clear attempt at pity and stood, trying to avoid running from the ballroom. She wove through the crowd, getting away as fast as she could. As she ran, Emma Bennet decided that she had never grown to hate someone as quickly as she hated Killian Darcy.

* * *

Killian watched Miss Bennet leave in consternation. He should have been thinking; he knew about acoustics and how sound traveled from his training; he should have realized that the woman would have been able to hear him and would probably take offense.

Of course she would take offense, Killian berated himself as David returned to the other Miss Bennet. Any woman should. He wasn't lying; he thought Miss Mary Margaret to be the most beautiful girl in the room, but he had lied in one area. Emma Bennet was truly a fetching creature.

On that thought he sighed reluctantly and made his way to the door Miss Bennet had escaped through. He was prepared to apologize; he'd seen the look in her eye as she left.

It was clear, shockingly clear, that Emma Bennet was a warrior. Bingley had informed him that Mr. Bennet had forced all of his daughters to learn the art of battling the undead, and it was painfully clear to Killian that the three youngest had not taken this instruction to heart nearly as well as Mary Margaret and Emma, though the fourth one had certain potential. The two eldest Miss Bennets were warriors, fighters. Emma Bennet had the shine of battle in her eyes when she left the ballroom.

Killian strode out into the darkness, his hand on his knife, looking for Miss Bennet. She was standing next to the fire, the light revealing an unexpected tear on her cheek. She was talking to herself; probably complaining about him, he was vain enough to think. Then someone came out of the darkness behind her and she stiffened, then turned.

She talked to the woman for a moment before Killian saw the rotting flesh on her face. Without a thought, he pulled out his pistol and shot the zombie, its head flying in small pieces across the lawn. Miss Bennet whirled on him. "Why did you do that? That was Mrs. Tremaine!" She turned to the four sisters who had suddenly appeared around her. "She was about to tell me something." The eldest Miss Bennet nodded and the third one patted Emma's shoulder.

"An undead Mrs. Tremaine, Miss Bennet. I believe I just saved your life," Killian said, his heart racing strangely at the thought of Emma becoming one of them. That was a thought he'd have to contemplate later. Several men crowded around him, an odd mirror to the five women in front of him. They clapped him on the back in celebration for the excellent kill.

"But I found her to be exceedingly _tolerable_ ," Miss Bennet replied, her chin rising and her eyes flashing at him. Killian barely hid a wince; she had most certainly heard his misspoken words. She opened her mouth once more, probably to curse him or otherwise berate him, when they heard the screams from the ballroom.

The five girls glanced back at the ballroom and turned, running to the people within without a word. Killian and the men around him could do nothing but call "ladies!" and follow them.

Then there was nothing for Colonel Killian Darcy, great zombie killer and fighter of monsters, to do but watch as the five Bennet girls, Emma at the front, destroyed every zombie. He watched Emma, her blonde hair swirling around her and a fierce expression on her face, as she sliced through unmentionables. After it was over, he stood next to Bingley.

"She is bloody amazing," he couldn't help saying. "She has a unique skill with a blade. And her arms are surprisingly muscular, yet not so much as to be unfeminine." David grinned, slapped him on the back. "And she is even more beautiful with the light of battle-borne intelligence in her eyes."

Killian glanced at his friend even as David turned to look at him. Then they looked back at the five women. Then Killian swore and turned away from the lovely sight of Emma Bennet, for he knew that the same expression of besotted admiration as was on David Bingley's face shone in his eyes.


	3. Chapter 2

That night, Mary Margaret and Emma prepared for their nightly sparring. "He is just what a young man ought to be," Mary Margaret mused with a smile on her beautiful face. "Handsome, kind, well-mannered—"

"—and rich, which any young man ought to be if they can possibly help it," Emma added, straightening her sparring uniform.

Laughing, Mary Margaret turned to her sister. "Not so rich as _Darcy_ , Emma."

"It would not matter if Mr. Darcy owned all of Maine," Emma replied as they made their way down to the basement. "He is still the most insufferable prig I ever set eyes upon."

"I noticed your eyes when you saw him at the ball," Mary Margaret said, bowing and receiving a bow from Emma in return. "You thought him handsome!"

"Handsome is as handsome does," Emma retorted, attacking her sister with no preamble. "Such pride I have never before seen in a man. Killian Darcy is, therefore, a very ill-looking man."

Mary Margaret disappeared from her view and her voice echoed throughout the catacomb. "Admit you find him handsome!" Emma paused for a moment and thought about Killian Darcy for a moment. His eyes were a stunning shade of blue and his face was of a pleasing shape and countenance. Fine, he was a handsome man. Very much so. The contemplation lost her the match, however, as Mary Margaret seemingly flew out of nowhere and slammed her sister to the ground.

Emma could only glare up at Mary Margaret's laughter. She flipped them over and slammed her sister into a wall, silencing the laughter into a groan of pain. Then their other sisters joined them, and the sparring continued, with the subject of Killian Darcy blessedly abandoned.

* * *

Several days later, Mary Margaret received a letter. "Abigail Bingley has invited me to tea!" she announced happily. "She says that if she is forced to sit alone with her brother and his friend for many more days, she will be forced to assassinate both of them," Mary Margaret finished with slight concern. Emma laughed at her mental image of tiny Abigail Bingley taking out Killian Darcy.

The only one more pleased by this invitation, naturally, was Mrs. Bennet.

Another hour on the same day saw Mary Margaret sitting on a horse with Ingrid standing below her in delight. "Please, Mama, might I take the carriage?" she begged.

"No, no, it seems likely to rain! You might fetch a cold, and then they'll have to let you stay on in Netherfield!" Ingrid explained gleefully.

Emma sighed. Would her mother's scheming never end? "Unless you are sure that they would not send her home."

Ingrid exclaimed, "Of course they would not! Mary Margaret shall be able to stay in that mansion as long as is necessary for Mr. Bingley to fall in love with her!" Regina and Zelena giggled, whispering among themselves as always.

Emma stepped up to her sister and took her hand from the horse's mane. "Hurry, Mary Margaret. The zombies spring easily from the wet earth."

Mary Margaret rode off soon enough, after several more comments about swiftly winning the heart of David Bingley. Ingrid sighed as her eldest daughter disappeared from view and Emma wrapped an arm around her waist. "You know it's your fault if she dies, right, Mama?"

"Yes, but at least it will be in pursuit of Mr. Bingley," Ingrid replied happily. "But one does not die from a cold anymore, Emma." Emma rolled her eyes and stepped back inside the house before the rain began.

Emma received a letter from Mary Margaret at Netherfield the next morning and brandished it at her mother. "She was set upon by zombies and 'excepting a few bruises and a minor burn,' there is not much the matter with her! I believe she also has a terrible cold; Abigail Bingley added a postscript that Mary Margaret has the flu!" Emma stood from the table immediately, not letting her parents speak. "I must go to her now."

* * *

Killian was just finishing his breakfast when the doorman stepped into Netherfield's dining room. "Miss Emma Bennet," he said calmly. Killian's heart skipped a beat at Emma's name and as the woman entered the room. He stood quickly with David, Abigail not speaking. Miss Bennet stood at the door and they all stared at each other for several seconds.

Finally she spoke. "Where is my sister?"

"She's upstairs," Killian said quickly.

"May I tend to her?"

"Of course," David said. Miss Bennet curtseyed and abandoned the room.

Killian glared at David as Emma Bennet left to find Mary Margaret. "She should not tend to her sister until it is deemed safe by the doctor," he insisted. "I will _not_ make the same mistake I made at Mrs. Tremaine's party."

David waved his concerns away. "It's just a burn from a pistol backfiring, Killian. And now she has a bad cold. I shall send for the doctor soon."

Killian groaned. "Whale?"

"Naturally. He's widely regarded as the best physician in this area. Why not?" David asked.

Killian leaned forward, trying to forget his fear that Mary Margaret had been infected and Emma was only getting closer. "You may wish to keep him away from your lady love, Bingley." With an eyebrow he tried to convey what he didn't desire to say in Abigail's presence. The man understood his meaning unexpectedly quickly and Killian grinned, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. David turned abruptly red and nodded, busying himself with his biscuit.

"What is it?" Abigail asked plaintively. David shook his head and stepped over to his manservant to telegram a different physician.

* * *

Killian stood at the doorway of Mary Margaret Bennet's room at Netherfield. Miss Emma sat at her side, brushing back her hair and wiping her forehead. He heard the doctor—not Whale, thankfully—approach and he stepped into the room. "Miss Bennet? The physician is here."

Mary Margaret barely opened her eyes as the doctor walked over to her side. Emma stood and looked down at her sister helplessly.

Killian took out his bottle of carrion flies and shook it, releasing the little pests. Emma's head turned toward him and her eyes widened when she heard the buzzing. Killian didn't watch her, but rather gazed at her sister, hoping he was mistaken but feeling sure the flies would find her.

The doctor placed his hand lightly over Mary Margaret's head. "She was out in the rain yesterday?"

"Yes," Emma said shortly. Her hand reached out and caught one of the small flies, its buzzing reduced to an echo within her palm. Killian blinked and stared at her for a moment. How were her reflexes so honed that she could catch such a small flying insect? Before he could say anything, she caught a second one.

The doctor nodded and lifted up her bandaged hand. Slowly, the doctor uncovered the wound and Killian let his favorite knife drop from the sheath in his sleeve. Emma caught another fly. "I see no evidence of a bite," the doctor said with no small amount of relief. "It appears as you said, Miss Bennet, that Miss Bennet's pistol merely backfired."

"That was never in question," Emma said, glancing over at Killian. Her small hand reached out and captured the final buzzing creature. Killian nodded and pushed the knife back into its concealed sheath.

The doctor bowed himself out and Killian prepared to do the same, relieved that he wouldn't have to kill another soul today. "Colonel Darcy," Emma said just before he stepped over to the door. He turned and she held her hand out to him. "I believe these belong to you." He reached out his hand toward her, prepared to accept his flies again. Suddenly her hand curled into a tight fist, and he heard the sounds of the flies being crushed in her hand. She opened her hand and let the carcasses fall into his palm. Without a word, she stepped back to Miss Bennet's side.

Once he exited the room, all he could do was stare down at them and wonder.

* * *

"Announcing Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet, and, ah, Miss Bennet," Emma heard as she woke next to Mary Margaret's bedside two mornings later. She looked around in confusion before remembering where she was and at whose hospitality Mary Margaret rested. She woke her sister quickly and wrapped her in several blankets before practically carrying her downstairs.

"We're leaving," Emma announced, revealing herself and Mary Margaret to her family. Perhaps her sister was still sick, but Emma knew they couldn't stay at Netherfield anymore.

David Bingley's eyes widened in alarm. Emma realized as she ushered Mary Margaret towards the door that David actually loved her sister, and it was a thought both unsurprising and relieving. Perhaps the man was actually worthy of her. "Surely she is too ill be moved!" Mrs. Bennet made a short noise of agreement.

Mr. Darcy's eyes danced with amusement before holding Mr. Bingley back. As her sisters and mother followed her to the carriage, she heard him tell his friend not to keep the women there if they wished not to stay.

"Mr. Bingley, I know exactly the thing that would raise the spirits of the county after the attack last week," Mrs. Bennet said before being handed into the carriage.

"A ball!" Zelena inserted, the very echo of her mother. "Please, hold a ball, Mr. Bingley!"

"Impossible," Mr. Darcy said. "The security arrangements alone would be—" Almost without realizing, he took Emma's hand to help her into the carriage, and their eyes met with the shock of the unexpected contact. Emma settled into the coach beside the feverish Mary Margaret, noting that she was in fact too ill to be moved, but uncaring. She had to get away from the blue fire of Killian Darcy's eyes.

"Nonsense, Darcy," Bingley said, making Zelena and Regina squeal. He addressed Mrs. Bennet, "When Miss Bennet is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the day."

The carriage was fastened securely and the driver began the course to Longbourn. As they rode away from view, Emma saw that Mr. Darcy was clenching and unclenching his hand, as if to savor the feeling of her hand on his.

"Look at her," Belle said with concern, distracting Emma from Mr. Darcy. "She looks terribly ill."

Zelena was less sympathetic. "We could have stayed on for a week in that palace." She crossed her arms petulantly.

"Better home now than another day in Mr. Darcy's presence," Emma insisted.

There was silence in the carriage for a moment, probably Zelena deciding whether to maintain the battle, but Mrs. Bennet's voice interrupted the potential argument. "Oh, Mother Superior's orphanage fell," she said sadly.

Emma glanced out of the window and saw the newly-zombified children, who in life had been fondly called the lost boys and girls, stumbling through the woods. All five girls reached for their pistols. No matter what the foe happened to be, they would be ready for battle.

* * *

A week passed quickly as Emma cared for her sister in the slightly-less comfort of Longbourn, but Mary Margaret soon rose from her bed with her usual sweet disposition and no problems remaining from her time of illness.

"Ah, Mary Margaret, I see you are well again?" their father called at breakfast.

Mary Margaret smiled. "Yes, sir, I am quite well."

"Good, good. This noontide, we shall have a guest, then. I will write for him to join us for the meal."

All of the girls looked around at each other, silently wondering who this guest could be. Mr. Bingley? Mr. Lucas? Mr. Darcy, heaven forbid?

"It is the man who shall inherit the estate when I pass on," Mr. Bennet explained. Mrs. Bennet scowled. "He is coming to look over the house and its property, and shall likely pick one of you to marry." The five sisters merely stared at their father.

Graham Collins appeared that afternoon, not a minute late.

The lunch was silent for several minutes. Finally, the man spoke. "To which of my fair cousins might I compliment on the excellence of these boiled potatoes?"

"My daughters are trained for battle, sir, not the kitchen," Mr. Bennet said jovially.

"We are quite able to keep a cook, Mr. Collins," Mrs. Bennet added.

Mr. Collins bowed as well as he could while still sitting. "Of course. I'm glad to hear that. That Longbourn can support such a living, that is." He abruptly switched topics. "I've been fortunate enough to have as my patroness the esteemed Lady Cora de Bourgh. You have, of course, heard of Lady Cora de Bourgh?"

The Bennet family nodded in a united positive. Everyone had heard of Lady Cora, the greatest zombie fighter in all of Maine and perhaps the entirety of the colonies. Emma waited for the punchline.

"Lady Cora has encouraged me to set the example for matrimony in the church by choosing a wife myself." He stood slowly, throwing his napkin down on top of the nicely boiled potatoes and ruffling his curly locks before gesturing at Mary Margaret. "Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, I have found myself quite captured by your eldest daughter, Miss Mary Margaret."

All of the girls looked up in a panic, and Emma could read Mary Margaret's frantic "but David!" painted across her face. Thankfully, Mrs. Bennet intervened. "Why, my dear Parson, Mary Margaret is soon to be engaged. We expect his proposal imminently."

Graham didn't protest this revelation as much as Emma might have expected. He nodded, a smile still on his face, and turned to Emma. "In that case, I should be honored to instead pursue Miss Emma, who is _nearly_ as beautiful as the first."

Emma barely restrained her groan.


	4. Chapter 3

The next morning, the parson attempted to start the morning out with _Fordyce's Sermons for Young Women_ , or something of that sort. Emma liked reading—not as much as Belle or (secretly) Regina, but she despised books forced upon her. The interruption of Zelena and Regina demanding to visit their Aunt Phillips in Meryton, therefore, was a most welcome one.

They arrived in Meryton with little fuss save the trap of a quickly-dispatched zombie. As they stepped into the center of the town, Zelena and Regina quickly skipped off to greet some new officers in town. Emma remembered the army had dispatched a new squadron to the county to aid in the battle against the undead.

The two youngest girls ran up to a soldier, calling, "Lieutenant Denny!" They, along with Mary Margaret, Emma, and a blessedly oblivious Mr. Collins, were swiftly introduced to Lieutenant Neal Wickham.

"How do you do?" he greeted pleasantly. Emma smiled when he winked at her, and Zelena positively blushed.

" _Do_ accompany us to Aunt Phillips' house," Zelena begged the young man.

"I should be honored," Mr. Wickham declared, to Emma's surprise. As they began the walk down the hill to their lovely aunt's home, two horses rode into the gate behind them.

"Mr. Bingley!" Regina called out in an uncharacteristic show of courage. The man grinned and jumped off of his horse.

"We were just on our way to Longbourn," he said, indicating Mr. Darcy behind him. Emma nodded at Mr. Darcy, then glanced back and forth between Darcy and Wickham, who were glaring daggers at each other.

"What about the ball you promised?" Zelena asked. Emma suddenly longed to slap her youngest sister for the impertinence. She held back the impulse, if only for the impression it would make on Mr. Bingley of Mary Margaret's family.

"Are you quite recovered?" Mr. Bingley asked Mary Margaret. At her shy nod, he declared, "Then you shall name the day, please."

Darcy didn't stop to chat as Bingley had clearly planned on doing, and he spurred his horse on toward the end of the little town. Mr. Bingley had just greeted Mary Margaret when he noticed Mr. Darcy was leaving him behind. With a wave and an apologetic smile, Mr. Bingley took off after his friend.

Emma handed the quiet yet oddly stalking Mr. Collins off to Mary Margaret with an apologetic smile of her own and walked with Mr. Wickham the rest of the way to Mrs. Phillips' home. They were several paces away when Emma's curiosity overtook her. "I'm sorry to ask, Mr. Wickham, but I must know. What is the cause of the animosity between you and Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Wickham turned to her in surprise at her notice of the glares. "I do apologize for my clear distaste at seeing Mr. Darcy. Are you much acquainted with him?"

Emma managed a laugh. "More than I wish to be. He's been here for less than a month and already the least popular man in the county."

"Yes, it always gives me great pain to see him. I've been connected to his family since infancy. My father was a dear friend of Mr. Darcy. Killian Darcy, his elder brother Liam, and I grew up together. His father treated me like another son. He bequeathed me with the best living and his gift. I had my heart set on joining the church," Wickham declared earnestly. "But when he disappeared without explanation, Darcy's brother took control of the estate. While he only changed the will slightly, to account for his father's passing, and Darcy loved his brother, Darcy ignored his wishes after Liam's death at the Second Battle of Kent and gave my living to another man."

"What could've induced him to behave so cruelly?" Emma asked, shocked that even Colonel Darcy could sink that low.

"Pride," Wickham sighed. "He thought me too low to be worth his consideration, and his father treated me as more of a son than his own flesh and blood. I loved his father dearly and I held Liam Darcy in high esteem. Because of their memories, I can never expose Darcy or challenge him to a duel."

Emma's aunt suddenly called for her. "I'll be right there," she called back, her mind not focusing on the potential trip to the North Country, but rather the information just revealed about Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Wickham's sigh brought her out of her reverie. "Well, perhaps I shall see you at Mr. Bingley's ball."

She smiled, "Perhaps." As she walked away, trying to get the image of bright blue eyes out of her mind, she turned back, her mind made up. "I'll be there."

* * *

Several days later found Emma Bennet strolling through the halls of Netherfield, searching for Mr. Wickham. Of course, she wasn't announcing her search for the handsome lieutenant, but if she happened to run into him—well, she wouldn't complain.

She smiled when she saw Mary Margaret and David dancing together. They were a beautiful couple, and she wished them nothing but the best.

Belle sat in a corner reading a book, a distant look in her eyes despite the escape of the book, and Emma thought for a moment about joining her. But then she saw a young man step up next to her, and Emma saw brown eyes and medium-length light brown hair before Belle's expression lightened into glee and she pulled him into an adjoining room.

Emma grinned, wondering when Belle would finally introduce her mysterious beau to the rest of the family, and kept strolling through the rooms. She stopped next to a mirror and grinned when she saw Neal Wickham reflected in its surface. "You came!"

"Such a tone of surprise, Emma," Neal said. Emma's shock at his use of her first name so readily was overcome by the joy of seeing the lieutenant. "Did you think I wouldn't come?"

"I was worried that the presence of Mr. Darcy would dissuade you from attending," Emma said.

Neal grinned, a short, fearsome smile. "If he wishes to avoid me, he must go. I shall not be moved from your side." Emma's heart flipped in her chest.

Suddenly Mr. Collins appeared at Emma's side, making Emma nearly gasp in surprise. "Hello, Emma," Graham said with a smile that faded when he saw Wickham. "Sorry, you are?"

"Lieutenant Neal Wickham," Emma introduced, "my cousin, Parson Graham Collins."

"Of course, of course," Graham said, the smile returning. "I never forget a face." He turned to Emma. "I do hope, Miss Bennet, that you haven't forgotten our dances."

"Definitely not," Emma sighed.

Not four minutes later, Emma stood on the dance floor opposite her cousin. The man was not a terrible dancer, she soon discovered, but his steps were clumsy and unintentionally hurried. Graham spent the entirety of the dance staring at her eyes, nose, or breasts, alternating accordingly.

Finally conversation began. "I think it only right and proper that every clergyman should set the example for matrimony in the parish," he declared quietly. "Do you not agree, Emma?"

She was saved from answering by the ending of the dance and their polite applause then by the polite "May I have the next dance?" from behind her.

Without thinking she said, "Yes!" and turned to see her new dance partner. She was met with the piercing blue of Killian Darcy's eyes. When Graham saw who the new man taking his place was, he merely grinned and wandered off to dance with Ruby Lucas.

* * *

Throughout the first few minutes of their dance, Miss Bennet kept looking around the room. Searching for Wickham, no doubt. "If you are looking for Wickham, I have not seen him since the beginning of the night," Killian finally muttered.

Emma relaxed—her question answered—and tensed again—another question rising. "Did you happen to see where he went?" she asked.

He was spared from answering for a few moments until Emma was returned once more to his hand. "I did not," he replied. Killian saw in her eyes the curiosity of where the rogue had disappeared to, and then her decision to get through the dance before focusing on Neal.

They completed the steps of the dance silently but perfectly; as he had imagined before, their bodies were just in-tuned enough to know exactly how the other would react to a push or a tug, their movements in the dance much like their actions in a battle would be. He was barely leading at all; they seemed to read each other's minds when making a turn or moving around another couple.

"I love this dance," Emma said abruptly, breaking their brief vow of silence.

"Aye," Killian said, "most invigorating."

They took several more steps in silence, the tempo of the tune slowing slightly as the orchestra seemed to grow tired in unison.

Emma seemed determined to talk. "It is your turn to say something, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance. Now you ought to remark on the size of the room or the number of couples."

He laughed to himself, as those were no doubt the most boring topics he'd ever heard come out of Emma Bennet's mouth. She seemed surprised at the grin he couldn't suppress. "I'm perfectly happy to oblige. What would you like most to hear?" he replied diplomatically.

"That reply will do for present," she said, an unseen smile in her words. "Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones." There was a brief moment of silence. "For now, we may remain silent."

"Do you talk as a rule while dancing?" Killian asked.

"No," she grinned. "No, like you, I prefer to be perfectly silent. Makes it all so much more _enjoyable_ , don't you think?"

Killian winced. That one stung. "Tell me, Miss Bennet, do you and your sisters very often walk to Meryton?"

Emma cocked her head slightly as she rounded the other couple in their square. "Yes, we often walk to Meryton. It's a great opportunity to meet new people. When you met us, we'd just had the pleasure of forming a new acquaintance."

"Mr. Wickham's blessed with such happy manners that he's sure of making friends. Whether he's capable of retaining them is less so," Killian bit out, unable to hold back the bitterness.

"He's been so unfortunate as to lose _your_ friendship," she remarked drily. "That is irreversible, no doubt?"

"It is." He tugged her closer to him, holding her close enough to feel the heat she emitted but far enough away to prevent nearby people from raising an eyebrow too high, and they stood in the middle of the dance floor. "Why do you ask such a question?" he hissed, cursing his own mouth even as he said the words.

"To make out your character, Mr. Darcy." Emma had no such qualms about the other people at the dance, and raised her face to his. If he leaned down just slightly…

"What have you discovered?" he countered quickly.

"Very little," she said. "I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly." Where had she heard these differing accounts? Bingley, probably, and—Wickham. Naturally.

He released her from the close embrace and they circled each other once more, the never-ending dance continuing. "I hope to afford you more clarity in the future."

* * *

"I predict a wedding in under three months," the inebriated Mrs. Bennet declared as she sprawled halfway across Regina's lap. Emma marveled at her younger sister's patience. "Such a charming young man! He's so—well—rich!" Emma felt a hot gaze above her, and looked up to see Killian Darcy's blue eyes staring down at her. "Mary Margaret marrying Bingley is bound to throw her sisters in the way of others. _Rich_ men, and then—"

Emma clapped her hand over Ingrid's mouth. "Mother, it's time to go!" She drew her hand away when her mother bit her. Yes, her mother, her dear, sweet mother, bit her.

"Don't be so impertinent!" Ingrid declared.

In a bit of a panic, Emma sat back against the column she was leaning against. "Mr. Darcy overheard you." What would this mean for Mary Margaret?

"Who is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him?" Emma didn't dare voice her concerns regarding the matter for fear of an outburst of what Belle had fondly called the Snow Queen—when their mother was at her most angry moments, she turned into a regal tyrant who didn't show the slightest emotions. It was only at those times that her husband respected her and her daughters feared her.

Just then, thankfully, Mary Margaret appeared. "I can't find Zelena or Papa," she exclaimed, completely flustered.

"Papa will be in the library, and I'll go find that _idiot_ girl," Emma snapped. Mary Margaret looked taken aback, but she couldn't worry about her just then.

Emma wandered throughout the house, her steps growing faster the more rooms she glanced into and the more times her shout of "Zelena!" went unanswered.

"Billy, where is the dessert?" David Bingley began, stepping just in front of her. At her slight giggle, David turned and jumped when he saw her. "Oh, hello Miss Bennet!"

The door to the kitchen opened and Billy stuck his head out. "Master Bingley—" A growl sounded from behind him and he let out a shrill shriek and disappeared, as if dragged away. Emma sighed—must she save _everyone_?—and reached for the dagger strapped to her leg.

When she turned to David, she was rather astonished to see him gaping at the door behind which his servant had disappeared, looking not unlike a fish. "Mr. Bingley," she said insistently.

"Oughtn't we wait for Darcy?" he asked. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Of course not," he answered himself, grabbing a nearby lantern and a fire poker.

The two crept down the dark stairs toward the kitchen. Suddenly David let out a yelp and slid down the stairs, not of his own volition, and Emma mentally cursed, knowing that he had been caught by an unmentionable. She jumped onto the railing and slid the rest of the way down, kneeling over David when she reached the bottom. "Mr. Bingley," she whispered, shaking his arm. He groaned, not opening his eyes, and Emma sighed. He was just knocked out.

The smell of rotting flesh grew stronger. The zombies crept closer. "You're Mother Superior's children, aren't you?" Emma asked after catching a glimpse of one of the zombies. "How did you get in?" She grasped her dagger, counting the zombies—seven. She would be fine.

"A friend showed us the way," one of them hissed. Emma prepared herself to jump over the unconscious man before her and attack, when she heard a roar from above.

Killian Darcy jumped down the rest of the stairs and attacked the zombies, beheading two in one strike and smashing the skull of another before Emma could stand. She flipped over Mr. Bingley and stabbed through the chests of two more, beheading them when they snarled. As Mr. Darcy flung one into the oven— _why_ the oven?—she sliced the last into potpourri. The oven door opened and she coughed at the fumes of roasted zombie.

Darcy knelt down beside his friend. "Was he bitten?" he asked. Emma didn't answer for a moment, still slightly stunned by the speed in which he'd killed those other zombies. Suddenly he held a dagger above Mr. Bingley's chest, prepared to stab his friend. "Emma. _Was he bitten_?"

" _No_!" she cried. He didn't move the dagger. "One of them grabbed his trouser leg and he hit his head when he landed."

Did she imagine Darcy's sigh of relief? The dagger disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Darcy slapped the side of his friend's face lightly. "David, wake up, mate." Bingley stirred slightly, groaning again.

Without a word he hoisted his friend onto his shoulder, prepared to carry him up the stairs. Emma still stood at the bottom of the steps. "Mr. Darcy," she said. Killian turned to look at her inquisitively. "Your skills as a warrior are without reproach." He waited for the "but" of the compliment. "If only you were as good a friend."

Killian's eyes shot darts at her for a moment. He took a deep breath and motioned for Emma to ascend the stairs in front of him. Without another word, she climbed the stairs and took a breath of zombie-free air at the top. She heard the stamp of Killian's boots behind her and felt only heaviness in her heart.


	5. Chapter 4

The next afternoon, Mary Margaret received a letter. Within were detailed the intricate plans of Miss Abigail Bingley to prevent the marriage of her brother and the eldest Bennet, disguised artfully as longing to see Miss Aurora Darcy once more. Mary Margaret lay across her and Emma's bed, hand draped over her face. On any other young woman, it would have appeared overdramatic or petulant, but Emma saw it as the shock and sadness the motion indicated.

"He must not love me," Mary Margaret whispered. "Why else would he close Netherfield and return to Storybrooke without knowing when he was to return? Why would he leave without saying goodbye?"

Emma glanced over the letter a final time and threw it on the bed. "Abigail Bingley has clearly seen that her brother is in love with you and fears it will somehow mess up her match with Mr. Darcy. So she's convinced him to run away into the arms of little Miss Darcy."

"If what we have is true, then nothing can separate us. We will always find each other," Mary Margaret murmured with increasing optimism.

Emma smiled to see her hopeful sister returning, but she knew that the true light in her eyes would be slow in returning.

* * *

Several mornings later, Graham appeared late for breakfast. The five sisters, used to him and his eccentrics, paid him no mind. He leaned down just enough to whisper in Ingrid's ear. "Oh, oh, of course," she screeched. "Parson Collins wishes to have a word with your sister," she cried, waving her hands at her husband and other daughters.

Emma looked up from her egg as her family abandoned her to the slender mercies of a man who perhaps thought himself in love. "Mary Margaret…" she whispered, trying to hold her back. Mary Margaret smiled, trying not to smirk, and pulled away from her younger sister. Emma was alone. She stood to try to run away from the imminent proposal.

"Miss Bennet," Graham said in her ear. He stood a mere three inches from her. "Almost as soon as I entered this house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life." He took a step forward. "I believe that marrying you shall add greatly to my happiness and thereby yours."

"Mr. Collins—" Emma tried.

"I will, of course, require you to retire your warrior skills as part of the marital submission. We cannot have swords in the home, and Lady Cora is within close reach for protection, should you complain about that." Finally he knelt before her, and Emma couldn't speak. "And now, Emma, it remains only for me to assure you in the most animated language of which I am capable of the violence of my affections."

Not wanting to hear of the supposed violence of his affections, Emma finally found her tongue. "Sir, I'm honored by your proposal."

"Thank you," Graham beamed.

"But I fear I must decline it."

Graham sunk back a little. Neither of them had time to say anything else, for Ingrid interjected. "Emma, I must insist that you marry Mr. Collins!"

"Parson Collins. It's Parson Collins," Graham sighed. Emma glanced down at him, not finding him too concerned at the dismissal of his proposal. He winked as she turned to run. She realized that—remarkably—in another universe, another time, they could have possibly been friends. Then she ran from her mother.

When the red anger disappeared from her vision, she was slamming Regina's mace into a structural aspect of the house. "Who will protect you when your father is dead?" Ingrid demanded in the middle of her shouted rant. "You will die a poor spinster unless you maintain this home!"

"Anything!" Emma cried. "Anything is to be preferred over marrying without love." Tears started falling down her face. Of all the things her parents could have forced her to do, this was not one of them. She would run away and join the army before she married a man she didn't love.

Mr. Bennet appeared. "Mr. Bennet, Talk some sense into her!" Ingrid cried.

Mr. Bennet sighed. "Emma, my dearest daughter, an unhappy alternative is before you. From this day forward, you shall be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do." Emma laughed, her tears drying, and threw herself into her father's arms.

As she ran off into the woods to escape her mother's screams, she heard her father's words. "I mean, have you heard him speak? He talks of nothing but religion, and when he's not talking about religion, he's speaking of the intelligence of wolves. Insanity, to be sure."

* * *

As she ran from her mother and the expectations of her family, Emma suddenly found herself in a graveyard. She stopped and looked around, admiring the morbid art of the stones and the grass growing above and around them.

The sound of a horse's gallops approached her, and she glanced away from the gravestones to see Neal Wickham approaching her. She grinned at the man's appearance. "Miss Bennet!" he exclaimed. "I did not expect to see you out here."

"You disappeared from the ball" was all she could think of to say despite her joy at his presence.

Neal looked vaguely apologetic. "Yes, I thought it best not to tangle with Darcy on purpose. It would have ruined the festivities for all, you most of all. But I did miss the pleasure of dancing with you," he smiled suggestively.

Emma's forehead furrowed as she looked up at him. Had Neal not promised at that very ball that if Darcy had a problem with him, Darcy should go, not he? He interrupted her thoughts with his next words. "Miss Bennet? If you are not otherwise occupied, I should like to take you somewhere very special to me."

She took his hand when he offered, and she swung up on his horse behind him.

* * *

They crossed Hingham Bridge into the In-Between, making Emma's heart jump slightly. Only once had she ventured this far from Longbourn, when her father decided to face Storybrooke in order to visit the bookstores of the town. Emma and Belle had decided to travel with him, and it had been largely a pleasant trip.

This trip was very different; now, she was on the back of a horse with a man with whom she was only slightly familiar, and they rode to a location she knew not.

They arrived at St. Lazarus' Church, and Emma walked inside while Neal set up the horse. Perhaps the most fear she'd felt in her life was when the zombies attending Mass turned around and stared at her. "It's okay!" Neal called to the zombies, taking her hand. "They are pigs' brains, not human brains," he whispered, motioning toward the goblets of liquefied brain matter. The zombie priest continued to read the communion passage, including the section of St. Lazarus himself.

After the service, they stood outside for a few moments. "You see, if they never consume human brains, they will never fully transform into zombies. St. Lazarus' is the key to find the ending the struggle between the living and the undead," Neal explained. "We must force some kind of understanding with the most advanced among them."

"Surely the crown will support such a venture," Emma mused, admiring Neal's passion for this problem and the solution he'd found.

"The war has almost bankrupted the colony. I don't know where to turn," Neal said quietly. "It's only a matter of time before they outnumber us."

* * *

The next morning, Emma was making her and Mary Margaret's bed, considering Neal's solution for the zombie problem. She believed it could work; these zombies did seem to possess more mental acuity than their far more monster-like counterparts. If such an alliance could be made—

Emma looked down at the bed she had been making to find that she was about to smooth a sheet down over the thicker blanket. Sighing, she yanked up all of the fine material to redo it.

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called, pulling at the bedclothes again. Ruby Lucas stepped through the door, smiling gently. "Oh, Ruby! I didn't know you were visiting today."

Without speaking, Ruby walked over to the bed to help Emma with the making of the bed. "I have some news, Emma." Emma nodded, looking up at her friend. "I'm engaged to be married to… to Mr. Collins."

Emma stared at Ruby. She understood why, of course—Mrs. Lucas had grown tired of maintaining Ruby and her many siblings over the years, and Ruby was older than Mary Margaret. It was time for her to marry and move out of the house, but to Mr. Collins of all men!

"You must be surprised," Ruby said resignedly.

"I'm not, I'm relieved," Emma said. Relieved for both Ruby and herself. No longer would Graham pursue her, and Ruby would get to start on that happy ending she wanted.

Ruby continued her explanation for her engagement. "I believe my chances for happiness are as high as can be expected with anyone else."

Emma nodded, longing to beg her friend to wait for something else, someone she could adore like Mary Margaret loved David Bingley. But she leaned across the bed, taking Ruby's hand. "Ruby, if you're happy for you, then I'm happy for you too."

Ruby nodded and her eyes sparkled. Emma raised an eyebrow before pulling the blanket the rest of the way up and smoothing the bed. That spark of friendship that Emma had finally seen in Graham—was Ruby falling for that? If so, at least their marriage would have affection, if not love. "I am to be presented to Lady Cora," Ruby added, the sparkle fading, "and if I'm to stay the night at Mr. Collins' rectory, I will require a chaperone."

"Ruby," Emma started.

"She is said to be quite imposing" indeed, the pale girl turned a shade whiter "and the thought of facing her without you makes me deathly nervous. Please?"

Emma almost laughed and said "no" without a thought. But then she considered Neal's proposition and the fact that Lady Cora was in possession of quite a lot of wealth despite the overall poor state of the colony. "I'll come. But I have one stipulation."

Ruby beamed. "Anything."

* * *

"Now when we meet Lady Catherine, a simply curtsy will suffice. Maintain eye contact but don't speak unless spoken to, please." Graham was not at his element, Emma considered. The man was quite terrified at introducing his fiancée to his lady. It was, frankly, adorable. Over the course of the previous days, Emma had decided that Graham did hold some real regard for her dearest friend, leaving Emma quite content in leaving Ruby in his care.

"Lady Catherine's famous Black Guard," Graham said, pointing at the still men. Ruby laughed when Graham waved a hand in front of one of their unmoving faces.

The three walked through Lady Cora's palace quickly, following one of Her Ladyship's men. "This way, please, Parson Collins," the man said, motioning toward a huge door which opened before them.

They stepped into a great room that Emma could only describe as a throne room. Emma stifled her laugh at the finery. This was absolutely ridiculous, truly. Graham and Ruby's faces were unreadable, but Emma was fairly sure that her friend was more impressed and cowed by the elaborate décor than amused by it.

"Lady Cora," Graham muttered, bowing to the elegant woman before them. Ruby and Emma curtseyed as instructed.

Lady Cora nodded to Graham, glanced down at Ruby in vague approval, and turned her sights onto Emma. "So, this is Miss Bennet."

"Yes, I am, Your Ladyship," Emma replied, wondering why Ruby wasn't getting similar treatment as the fiancée of Lady Cora's pastor.

"It's very kind of you to invite us over for tea, Lady Cora, really. Very grateful," Graham said. Emma finally noticed that streak of hero-worship the man maintained for the greatest zombie fighter in Maine.

Emma saw a man appear to the right of Lady Cora. He was leather-clad and his eyes shone from the darkness of the corner. "Mr. Darcy?"

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said, bowing. Emma saw something in his face that could have only been… surprised delight? What was wrong with him? Or, rather, what was wrong with her for staring at him so long?

"You know my nephew?" Lady Cora asked.

"Yes, I had the tremendous pleasure of meeting him in Meryton," Emma said, wincing at her own words. It had not been a "tremendous pleasure."

"Mr. Wickham," a manservant announced. Immediately, Mr. Darcy's face darkened as Neal walked into the throne room.

Lady Cora turned to Graham. "Is this the soldier you spoke of?"

"Aye, milady. Miss Bennet requested he attend in order that he might confer with Your Ladyship about a strategy with which to combat the scourge."

"A lieutenant? Really?" Lady Cora commented with no small amount of amusement as Wickham stepped up behind Emma.

"And tea is brought up," the manservant added.

"That will be lovely," Lady Cora said, stepping down from her throne. "Shall we?"

As the other four walked toward the tea, Emma leaned into Neal's presence. "I have given you entrance to the wealthiest woman in the kingdom. The rest is up to you."

She felt Mr. Darcy's fiery stare on their backs as they walked over to join the others for tea.

* * *

She had brought Wickham? To his aunt's home? For tea? As he was seated next to Miss Bennet, Killian tried to stop the waves of anger and trepidation he could feel pouring off of him. Judging by Miss Bennet's stiff figure, she either felt the fury from him or was irrationally nervous about Wickham's presentation. Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

"Your ladyship has perhaps heard some of the stricken have not succumbed to the urge to feed upon the living," Wickham began. "And in so doing have maintained their human ways."

Lady Cora immediately asked his own question, "And they've managed to resist this most primal of zombie urges, how? Their ironclad constitutions?" Her giggle was significantly kinder than his own would have been.

Miss Bennet inserted her observations. "Yes, fortified by religious piety and pig's brains. Which they receive in communion as the blood of Christ."

"The pig's brains quench their appetite for human brains." Killian considered the request for a moment. It was indeed possible that such a diet would suffice, but no matter what, the insatiable hunger of the zombies for human brains would eventually emerge. Their

"Ah, yes, of course." Lady Cora's amusement was obvious, and Killian took the last scone. The parson at the end of the table had hoarded the rest.

"The crown's funds have been drained." Killian coughed, covering a smile. Exactly the plan he expected from Wickham. More money; it was always more money. Wickham then outlined his inane theory through which he would obtain this new fortune.

"Zombie aristocrats?

"I prefer to think of them as souls lost in purgatory. The common hordes look to them for leadership. It takes just one of them to realize their power and to lead their hordes into battle-

"The undead are like locusts. They go forth and destroy. They have no use for leaders."

"If we can negotiate with a select group of—"

"Aristocrats? To what end?" Lady Cora asked.

Neal struggled for the word for a moment. "A treaty."

"Appeasement? Never," Killian finally spoke. Emma tensed again next to him. Killian saw naught but a red fire in front of him as Neal earnestly explained his reasons for such a venture. Truly, the human race might be overrun. However, they had not fought for so long, lost so much, so many friends and family, to be slaves to Wickham's will in this regard. He snapped, "I have tolerated your presence here long enough, Wickham. Guards!"

The guards arrived remarkably quickly and clasped Wickham's arms. "Please do remember this moment and the opportunity you so glibly spurned," Wickham said, finally addressing Killian. "The day of the zombie is already brokered. Wake and face the light or slumber into oblivion." Killian glared back.

Once Wickham had disappeared, Miss Bennet spoke for the first time since the beginning of the conversation that had so drained him. "Mr. Darcy, you are as unfeeling as the undead."

Killian stood and walked away from the table, feeling much like the aforementioned unmentionable. Miss Bennet was right. Why was she always so right about him? How could she take one look at him and understand him and his innermost thoughts? He supposed that as she was to him, he was an open book to her.

He stalked to the library he had claimed as his own one of the first times he visited Rosings, when he was very young. He sat down in the armchair behind the desk, releasing a cloud of dust. He glanced around at the dust permeating the whole room. It had been too long since he had visited this room. Not too long since he had visited his aunt, however.

Wickham's presence had created a spike of anger in his heart that he hadn't felt since he prevented the elopement over the summer. He rested his elbows on the desk and let his head fall into his hands. Why couldn't Emma see what Wickham truly was? She was probably overcome with the gallantly eloquent speech and the handsome face.

Why did he love her so much? Why did the sight of her face, her sparkling green eyes, her smile, and her beautiful features, cause his heart to flip over in his chest? Killian sighed, her laugh playing in his mind. He knew not what she thought of him, but he would try. Tomorrow, he would visit Mr. Collins' rectory in hopes of winning something he dared not think of.


	6. Chapter 5

That night, Ruby was snoring loudly enough to awaken the dead. Emma knew that her dear friend was prone to such noise while she slept, but tonight it was simply too much. She rose from her bed, tied her wrap around her shivering body, ensured a dagger lay safe in the sheath on her calf, and wandered from the house.

She stood at the edge of a little woods, looking up at the trees. Her mind was consumed with the problem of the zombies. If what Neal had said was so true, how could they dare fight them?

A stick cracked and Emma knelt, reaching for her dagger without a thought. Mr. Wickham appeared in the rising fog. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he said apologetically.

Emma smiled weakly. "You didn't."

Neal returned the smile with slightly more sincerity. "No, of course not. Rosings is the safest place in England." Emma tried not to snap at him; that was not the reason she was unafraid of being attacked. She felt safer in her own hands than she ever could under the protection of gates or guards. Neal continued, "You see, that's the problem. They feel invincible within their great houses but how wrong they are. Their pride will be their downfall."

"Downfall?" Emma asked, trying to laugh. "You act as if the undead have already defeated us."

Neal didn't answer this. "I think you and I understand each other, Emma." He leaned in, too close to her own face, and Emma could tell what he wished from her. She took a rapid two steps back and he opened his eyes, his face alight in shock. "By the way you defended me earlier, I thought—"

She shook her head. "Mr. Darcy's treatment of you has been utterly despicable, but—"

"No more despicable than his treatment of you and your family," Neal interrupted.

That stopped Emma on her tirade. "I don't understand you, sir."

"It was Darcy that persuaded Bingley to stay clear of your sister and leave Netherfield." Emma suddenly felt a great hole in her heart burn. It was Mr. Darcy, not Miss Bingley, who had convinced David to leave her sister?

" _Why_?"

Neal shrugged. "Because he believe your sister to be inferior to his friend. Darcy also convinced Bingley that she was after his fortune and not his heart."

"How could you possibly know this?" Emma asked, trying not to believe it.

"Men talk. Darcy brags about it with his intimates." Neal reached out his hand, a gentle smile growing on his face. It was as if he had forgotten that they were speaking of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. "Emma, run away with me."

Emma took another step back. Suddenly, she realized that she did not know the man standing in front of her. She didn't know anything about him. "You have crossed a line, sir."

Neal smirked, apparently not concerned that he had been spurned. "We're far beyond lines now. Watch your family, Emma. The day of reckoning is upon us."

With those words, Mr. Wickham vanished once more into the woods. Emma stared after him, and she wandered back into the house. Despite Ruby's snores, she fell asleep immediately with only one thought running through her mind.

 _Mr. Darcy hurt my sister_.

* * *

In the morning, Emma awoke alone. She wondered for a moment where Ruby had disappeared to, before remembering that she and Mr. Collins were to walk around the estate of Rosings and their own property. She wandered downstairs, the information she had received last night still beating in her mind.

The door opened and a leather-coated gentleman blew in with the wind of the morning. "Mr. Darcy," Emma said with no small amount of shock.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said, a smile in his eyes. They stood in silence for a moment. Finally, he spoke. "There are some words I must say."

Emma raised an eyebrow but motioned toward a nearby chair. "Please do be seated." Neither of them stepped toward the seats.

Mr. Darcy began to speak as he stepped dramatically toward the window. "Miss Bennet, although I know many consider you to be decidedly inferior as a matter of your birth, family and circumstances, my feelings will not be repressed." Emma saw him wince at his own phrasing, and Emma could only wonder what the man was trying to work toward. "In vain have I struggled. I've come to feel for you a most—ardent admiration and regard which has overcome my better judgment." He got down on one knee, not taking his gaze away from hers. "So now I ask you most fervently to end my turmoil and consent to be my wife."

Emma stared down at him, the world somewhat rocking beneath her feet. It was, without a doubt, the worst proposal she had ever heard, but she could see in his eyes that he meant every word of it. That was perhaps not the good part of her realizations. She stammered out a thanks and a rejection.

Killian glanced down at the floor, then back up at her as he stood. His cheeks turned pink. "Might I be informed why with so little endeavor at civility I am rejected?"

There it was; there was the fire she needed. "You intentionally ruined the happiness of my most beloved sister." Mr. Darcy's eyes widened. "Do you deny it?"

"I have no wish to deny it. I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister."

Emma glared at him, shaking her head slowly. Then she kicked him in the stomach. "How could you?"

Killian chuckled as he picked himself off the table on which he had fallen, although she sensed it was because of the fight that was about to emerge rather than her words. "Because I perceived is attachment to her to be far deeper than hers for him. I believed her to be indifferent."

Emma grabbed the books off the nearest table and threw them at the man with each word. "Indifferent? _She's shy_!" She ran out of books and tried to calm herself, although the readily available fire poker provided a good weapon. She twirled the poker in her hand and Mr. Darcy muttered a curse, stepping next to the window. "Did you suggest to Mr. Bingley that his fortune had some bearing on the matter?"

"I wouldn't do your sister the dishonor though it was suggested—" Emma attacked with the poker. He flipped over the table and pinned her down between himself and the little table.

"By Miss _Bingley_?" That would have been preferable.

"By your mother at the ball." Mr. Darcy glanced farther down from her face, eyebrow lifting, and Emma belatedly realized that their… position gave the man a good look down her dress. Emma rolled her eyes and threw him off of her, continuing the fight. Mr. Darcy avoided her strikes handily and Emma marveled at the way they fought so well together. Then she doubled the strength behind the blows

"Your character was revealed to me many months ago—" he knocked her legs out from under her and she fell. When he tried to attack further, she held him still with ankles around his throat. It was a move she hadn't tried since China, but judging by his clawing at her legs for an attempt at breath, it worked well. "—when Wickham told me of his misfortunes at your hand!"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Wickham's misfortunes have been very great indeed," Mr. Darcy agreed sarcastically. She bent her knees, pulling the man closer. Then she punched him in the nose, throwing him backwards.

They both rolled to their feet, and Emma grabbed a letter opener within reach. They stood opposite each other, two sides of the same coin, both breathing heavily. When their combat began again moments later, it was more genteel, fists flying and countering. "You withheld the advantages that you know would defriend him." She aimed poorly with the letter opener, attacking his vest. The buttons flew from the vest and fell to the floor. He glanced up at her, amusement across his face and one eyebrow raised. When she only increased her glare, he performed an action that slammed her into the closed door.

"Is this your opinion of me? Then I thank you for explaining it so fully." Emma groaned inwardly when she saw that he had regained the poker. They exchanged several more blows that ended with Emma performing a flying kick that knocked the feet out from under him. She threw herself down next to him to attack with the letter opener, but he reached up and grabbed her wrists, rolling on top of her to straddle her with her wrists pinned above her head.

Emma leaned up, trying to ignore the delightfully inappropriate press of his body on hers. "You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. I had not known you a month before I knew that you were the _last_ man in the world who I could _ever_ be prevailed upon to marry."

Darcy sat up, halfway sitting back on her thighs in a way that was thoroughly inappropriate but felt thoroughly wonderful after the exertion of their exercise and the way they had been fighting. "You've said quite enough, Madame. I fully comprehend your feelings and now I only have to be ashamed of what my own have been." He stood abruptly, stepping over her body, and Emma immediately felt the loss of his warmth. "Please forgive me and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness." He bowed quickly, his eyes stricken.

Slowly, Emma stood, not looking around at the room that was no doubt covered in splinters of their battle. She stepped over to the odd chair and sat down, her breasts heaving as she regained her breath. Suddenly, she found herself in tears.

Ruby and Graham appeared in the doorway, Graham immediately focusing on the antiques she and Killian had destroyed. "Emma? What's the matter, darling?" Ruby asked, making her way over to Emma's side.

"Mr. Darcy—" she sobbed.

"Darcy came by here? To the cottage?" Graham asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. Ruby frowned at her fiancé and gathered Emma into her arms.

"I don't know why I'm crying," Emma whispered once she mastered her voice. Some part of her knew: as she watched Killian Darcy walk away from her, she felt half of her heart rip away from her body. Somehow, irrevocably, inexplicably, part of her heart was Killian's.

* * *

"There's a letter for you, Miss Bennet," Graham's manservant said the next morning, handing her the letter.

Emma thanked him quickly and rushed into an empty room. She glanced down at the envelope, which merely read _Emma_ in beautiful script. She turned it over and saw an unfamiliar crest pressed into the red wax fastening it shut. She rubbed her thumb over it for a moment, tore it open, and began to read.

 _"Dear Miss Emma Bennet,_

 _"My letter is not to renew that conversation which was so disgusting to you, but to address the two offenses you have laid against me._

 _"It was never my intention to wound your sister Miss Mary Margaret, who is one of the loveliest, kindest, and gentlest women of my acquaintance. I intended only to protect my dearest friend, for I noticed immediately that David's feelings for your sister were beyond any I have ever witnessed in him or even dreamed him capable of achieving. Surely you've noticed that David, despite being the kindest man the world has ever seen, is not the sharpest sword in the armory, so to speak. He would never understand this. However, after overhearing your mother state her intention of having all her daughters marry favorably, I persuaded Bingley of the unfitness of the match. If I have wounded Miss Bennet's feelings, it was unknowably done, and I should like to make up this mistake as well as I can._

 _"As to your other accusation, of having injured Mr. Neal Wickham, I shall now address your concerns. No sooner had my brother, the direct heir of my father, made clear his intention to leave Mr. Wickham a handsome sum that Liam Darcy was mysteriously infected by the plague. It was left to me, his brother, to provide a merciful ending. Though he and Aurora were the only beings on this earth I yet cared for, as our father had abandoned us some years earlier, it was left to me to protect our sister and people. I killed my brother._

 _"Despite my suspicions as to the convenience of my brother's infection and subsequent death in accordance with the declarations on his will, I gave Wickham the inheritance my father and brother left him. The man squandered it on cards and alcohol and women, whereupon he demanded more and more money, until I eventually refused. Thereafter he severed all ties with me, a true relief. Last summer he began a relationship with my young sister Aurora and convinced her to elope. While Mr. Wickham's prime target was her large inheritance, a strong motivator was revenge on me. Fortunately, I was able to persuade Aurora of Neal Wickham's ulterior motives before it was too late. I hope this helps explain and perhaps mitigate my behavior in your eyes._

 _"I have learned, Miss Bennet, that love is a weapon. As dangerous and persuasive as any sword or knife. For I have suffered a moral wound. When did I fall so deeply under your spell, Miss Bennet? I cannot fix the hour or the spot or the look or words which laid the foundation. I was in the middle before I knew I'd began. What a proud fool I was. I have faced the harsh truth that I can never hope to make up for this terrible behavior and win your heart and love in this life. Like the aforementioned fool I am, I seek solace in combat._

 _"I write to you from the siege of Storybrooke. There is now a cunning design to the zombie attacks. Miss Bennet, I sense that a dark hand is guiding the enemy. By taking Storybrooke, they increase their ranks a hundredfold. Now we endeavor to keep them trapped within the Great Wall. If we should fail to contain them breaching Hingham Bridge, it will be as if a great dam had broken._

 _"Please, Emma, I implore you to be ready. Prepare your family and keep yourself safe. If you allow me the honor, I remain, as always and until the end of the world or time, your humble servant,_

 _"Killian Darcy."_

Emma sank back into her chair, pressing the letter to her lips. How was it that a mere three days ago she had fought his man intending to kill him with a letter opener and now the thought of his death in battle made her feel sick to her stomach? After all this time of despising him, wishing his death, longing for his blue eyes to never meet hers again—did she love him?

"Emma?" Ruby appeared in the room. Emma wondered how long her friend had been standing there before speaking. "Are you quite alright?"

Emma managed a smile and a small laugh, holding the letter behind her back. "I hardly know."


	7. Chapter 6

Emma, Ruby, and Graham left for the Lucas home the next day, traveling rapidly by carriage. After a brief respite, Emma escaped the friendly hospitality of her friends and borrowed a horse to ride home.

When she rode up to Longbourn's gates, she was almost immediately met by Mary Margaret. "I was watching for you, Emma!" Mary Margaret called, her voice thick with emotion. Emma noticed immediately that tears had formed tracks of salt down her sister's beautiful cheeks.

She read the letter of ransom that Neal Wickham had sent for her little sister. "Zelena is barely more than a child!" Mary Margaret exclaimed. "I could not have believed him such a rogue as to steal so young a girl from her home in this way!"

Emma thought of Aurora Darcy, and she knew that he would. Her heart sinking within her chest, she flipped the letter over and ran her finger over the wax seal. _St. Lazarus_.

She turned to Mary Margaret, her eyes widening in swift realization. "I know where she is."

That night, just as she was about to leave for St. Lazarus', a knock sounded on the door of the catacomb beneath Longbourn. Emma stepped quickly to the door and peered through the peephole.

Lady Cora glared through the hole. "You have a very small estate here."

"And yet we endure it," Emma replied drily as she opened the door for the woman and a rather disturbingly large man. "I must leave at once. I have urgent business to attend to."

Lady Cora appeared to have gone temporarily deaf. "A report of a most scandalous nature has reached me. That you intend to be united with my nephew, Mr. Killian Darcy."

"I'm not," Emma replied after a pause. She intended that the woman wouldn't learn that not only had Killian proposed, but that she'd actually accept his proposal now, should he reiterate his words in a more polite fashion. If he asked her in a fashion like his letter, she would accept without a single thought.

"And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?" Lady Cora asked.

"I will make no such promise."

"Then I shall protect the dignity of the far superior man. Wilhelm?" Lady Cora motioned the large man forward.

Emma had only time for a startled glance between Wilhelm and Lady Cora before the huge man pushed Emma into a wall without any prelude whatsoever and lifted her up by the neck. Emma tried in vain to push his hands away, but to no avail. She tried to kick her legs and hit him, but she was losing oxygen quickly enough that it wasn't working.

"Do you still refuse to oblige me?" Lady Cora asked airily.

She loved Killian Darcy, and she loved her pride yet more. "I do!"

Emma thrust her hand up and tore her fingernails down Wilhelm's face. He dropped her, whether from surprise or pain she couldn't tell, but she had the upper hand, finally. Emma kicked Wilhelm and he grunted, and then he threw her into the wall. Emma winced as she stood, trying to convince Wilhelm that she was tiring. Wilhelm showed the first bit of emotion he had all evening and smiled slightly, which was Emma's loophole. She kicked Wilhelm hard enough that the man was sent flying through the air into a column, which quickly collapsed and caused part of the roof to fall on top of him.

Emma winced, for real this time. Her parents were going to kill her.

He moved for a moment and then was still. Emma stared down at him in slight dismay. Then she couldn't pay attention to the man she'd accidentally killed, for there was a sword at either side of her throat, pressing hard enough that she didn't dare move for cutting herself. Lady Cora stared at her, the swords not moving against the brick beside her head.

Finally she spoke. "I do not know which I admire more, Emma Bennet. Your skill as a warrior, or your resolve as a woman."

Suddenly voices descended into the catacombs and Lady Cora moved the swords silently, sheathing them with care, and stepped into the shadows. "I must go—"

"Papa, you cannot go!"

"Zelena's honor is at stake!" George Bennet blustered.

Emma interjected quickly. Mary Margaret was right; her father could not be allowed to go after Neal and Zelena. "I shall go, Papa. I know where she is."

"I will go with you," Mary Margaret put in.

"You cannot go," Emma protested. "You have to stay and protect the rest of the family."

"Go, both of you," Lady Cora said quietly. Judging by the hurriedly stifled gasps from her sister and father, Emma decided they hadn't noticed the fearsome lady in the shadows. "I shall take the rest of your family with me to Rosings. There is no safer place in all of Maine."

Emma did not take the time to wonder why Lady Cora de Bourgh was giving this kindness to her family, but she nodded to the lady and took Mary Margaret's hand.

In what felt like no time at all, the two sisters had passed through the land connecting them to the In-Between and they arrived at Hingham Bridge. A soldier called out before they could cross. "Do not cross into the In-Between! All of the remaining explosives in the colony are attached to it, ready to explode the bridge come first light."

Mary Margaret's hands tightened around her waist. Emma looked down at the soldier and then across the bridge. "Nevertheless, we must cross over." She dug her heels into the sides of their horse and they galloped over the bridge.

On the crossing, Mary Margaret's breath caught. "Look. It's David."

Emma glanced over to see David Bingley holding a grenade and stepping over to what was no doubt a pile of zombie body parts. A white piece of cloth dangled from his neck as he dropped the grenade. "His scarf, one of the zombies is going to catch it," she realized just as the very thing happened. She slowed down just enough that Mary Margaret could jump down and run over to the man she loved.

As she stopped the horse on the In-Between side of the bridge, she heard the grenade explode and Mary Margaret tackle David into the ground. Emma knew they would be okay; Mary Margaret got to him on time. Then she saw a sight that made her heart stop.

Killian Darcy stood in a muddy field, his leather jacket nearly brushing the ground. His katana thrust through the arm of an unmentionable, but as he tried to take a step, a hand sprung from the ground and grabbed his ankle. Emma ran over to him and threw her axe into another risen zombie's skull. She sighed as hands took hold of her own feet.

"Miss Bennet," Killian breathed.

Emma allowed herself one moment to revel in the sparkle in his eyes and the fact that she'd just saved his life. "Potter's field."

"Aye." Killian looked down at the hands grabbing their feet, then back up at her. "What?"

"What we're standing in. It's an unmarked zombie graveyard."

"Of course," Killian said. Then, as if one body, the two of them thrust their swords into the ground, aiming for the brains of the zombies below them.

Several minutes later, they were free from the potter's field and stood once more on solid ground. "Miss Bennet, what are you and your sister doing here in the In-Between?" Killian asked.

Emma looked across the barren landscape, searching for something he couldn't see. "Neal Wickham, he's taken Zelena. They've run off together, to St. Lazarus' church in the In-Between. Mary Margaret and I have come to fetch her."

Killian's eyes widened. Even though she had rejected him and his love, he could not let her return to that accursed church. Begging forgiveness for what he was about to say, he spoke. "St. Lazarus?" Emma nodded. "I know it well. I saw it razed to the ground five days ago. There is no way your sister could have survived."

Emma took a small step back, her chest heaving. Her eyes widened and filled with tears, and she didn't speak. It was the look he'd had when he watched his mother die, he knew. She tried to speak but couldn't. "I'm truly sorry, Emma." For the first time since his letter, he dared to use her given name. "Stay here with my men, please," he requested.

And he left her alone as dusk fell. His mind raced on how to retrieve the foolish child. His eyes fell on the body of a fallen soldier, the poor man's skull still intact, and his mind sparked a plan.

That night, Emma wandered throughout the camp, the faces of Zelena and Neal flitting through her sight. How could she have abandoned Zelena in such a way, that she would leave with the horrid man? Mary Margaret had reacted similarly to her response when Killian told her of Zelena's death and hadn't spoken in several hours.

Suddenly she saw David Bingley several feet away. He glanced down at his watch, then peered into the In-Between. She stepped over to him and he smiled faintly at her approach. "London is over there," she motioned, "and Hingham Bridge is over there. What are you looking for, Mr. Bingley?"

She realized suddenly that Mr. Darcy had disappeared soon after telling her of St. Lazarus' burning. If she remembered correctly—"St. Lazarus'. He lied."

"To protect you," Bingley rushed to cover himself and his friend. "He would risk _anything_ for you, Miss Bennet."

As she jumped astride her horse, her only thought was _Killian_.

Emma rode closer to the church, her heart clenching in panic for her sister and for the man she loved. She heard the roar of zombies before she saw the black horse approaching, the red of her sister's hair shining in the near morning. "Zelena!" she screamed, but the child was too focused on riding away from the monsters to notice her.

The rise of the church appeared in the distance, but she could no longer pay attention to the church itself. As the crowd of zombies grew thicker, Emma sliced off the heads of several of the monsters, looking for Killian. Finally she found him fighting Neal.

Neal, who had a sword emerging from his chest. Neal Wickham, who was clearly a zombie. Neal, who had his wretched fingers clasped around Killian's neck.

She heard him scream "I'm the one they've been looking for! I'm their savior!" but the rest of his words were silenced by roaring waves in her ear, waves of assurance that he would not kill his quarry today. Killian's eyes widened as she rode up to the grappling pair, and she trampled Neal Wickham under her horse's hooves.

Emma reached her hand down for Killian, and he took it, swinging onto the valiant horse's back with ease. They rode through the swarm of zombies, Killian slashing through the pack whenever they became too thick to quickly pass through. As he leaned down to attack the zombies, his grasp on her hip grew stronger, but Emma welcomed the slight pain, the realization that she had arrived in time, that he was alive.

"Hurry, Emma," were the first words he spoke when he straightened behind her. "Bingley is to blow up the bridge at first light." The light of the morning shone over the hills, and Emma spurred the horse on faster. There was no reason to fear; either they would make it in time, or they would have to find a way across the Great Canal. Either way, they would be together.

Emma's only sight across Hingham Bridge before it exploded around her was Mary Margaret's horrified scream.

Emma awoke in a pile of rubble, every muscle aching. Her head hurt so badly she longed to just lie back down and sleep for a year, but she had to do something. She had to find—Killian. She lifted her head and looked around, searching for Killian among the scraps of stone and bridge.

There, a few feet in front of her, rested a man on his side, blood splattered around him, his leather coat covering him. She lifted herself onto her elbows and dragged himself to Killian's side. Feeling herself suddenly overwhelmed with emotions—agony, fear, love—she turned Killian over onto his back and tried to brush the dirt off of his face. With growing panic and a few sobs, she tried to find Killian's breath, and finally she felt the warm exhale against her ear.

Tears fell down her cheeks as relief overcame her. She clasped his face in either hand, then leaned down, almost touching foreheads, and whispered. "From the first moment I saw you, my heart was irrevocably gone." She brushed her lips against his, and she held him tightly, waiting to be found.


	8. Chapter 7

Several weeks passed. Killian's convalescence at Rosings was long and painful, extended by the rather awful damage his left hand had suffered in the explosion. As he lay in his bed waiting for the small cuts across his whole body—the coat had helped as some protection, but not enough—to heal and for his hand to regain power of movement, he thought of Emma and of his rescue mission for Zelena.

He'd arrived at St. Lazarus' with the intention to fully awaken the zombies to provide a distraction, and thus they had been. He'd quickly found Zelena in the basement of the church, also discovering Neal's plans for the conquest of Storybrooke. Neal had taunted him with the plans, only ceasing when he noticed the watch Killian had synced with David's pocket watch. As expected, Neal's aim with a gun had not improved throughout the years of their separation.

When Neal revealed himself to be a zombie after a short match, during which Killian had proved himself the master of the two as when they were young, he had felt only rage. Because of this man, he had been forced to kill his brother, to leave his little sister alone. He was now fighting desperately for his life and for the life of his love, merely because this man couldn't be satisfied with the wealth with which he was generously provided. However, soon he had found himself unable to breathe properly due to Neal's clasp around his neck.

The sight of Emma Bennet riding behind Wickham to trample him beneath her horse's feet was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He and Emma had raced toward the bridge, leaving zombies in their wake. He cursed himself for forcing Emma rescue him like this; now, she too could be trapped on the wrong side of the canal. As the bridge exploded around him, his only thought was for Emma's safety.

Finally, when he was sufficiently recovered, he met with George Bennet in the Rosings library. Emma's father raised an eyebrow when he stepped into the room. "What can the good colonel want with me?" George wondered, a smirk on his face.

"I should like to request your blessing in asking your daughter, Miss Emma Bennet, to marry me," Killian said, knowing the man would only appreciate frankness.

George leaned back against the chair he had clearly appropriated as his own. "I admit, from my conversations with my daughter, I did expect this request. I had only been aware of her repulsion toward you, so her favor was more than slightly startling. However, she seems to have changed her mind toward you, and Mary Margaret's description of your devotion towards her is all I can ask for in a son-in-law. Yes, of course, you have my blessing."

Killian bowed, unable to hold back a slight smile. "Thank you, sir."

Before he could leave the room, George spoke again. "I assume you shan't make her retire her warrior skills, as Graham Collins was going to make her?"

Killian shook his head rapidly, anger at the parson growing once more. How dare he? "Her skills as a warrior are the first characteristic that made me fall in love with her, sir. I should sooner melt down my katana than ask her to cast aside that essential part of her spirit."

"Good, good. Go off and profess your love, lad." George leaned farther back in the chair as Killian smiled, bowed again, and prepared to leave the room. "I've just given this blessing to David Bingley in regards to my eldest daughter," George laughed to himself. "If any young men come for the other three, for heaven's sake send them in. I'm quite at my leisure."

Killian approached the main room at Rosings with no small amount of trepidation, wondering what sort of response he could receive from the woman he loved. He knew, whatever she said, he would rest assured in the knowledge of the words he heard on the bridge just before he had sunk into his unconscious mind.

* * *

Emma sat with her sisters and Miss Bingley, waiting for—something to happen. Anything. She heard her mother's inane comments about Lady Cora's eyepatch, but they were quickly overshadowed by the entrance of Wilhelm's replacement. "Mr. Bingley, ma'am."

Mary Margaret looked up quickly, almost dropping the pistol she was polishing. David Bingley entered with a grin and a genteel bow. "If it please you" he directed his words at Ingrid "I should like very much to speak with Miss Mary Margaret Bennet, alone."

Ingrid, to her credit, merely nodded, a grin rising on her face. David took Mary Margaret's hand and led her from the room. They all waited in near silence for a moment, the quiet only broken by Zelena and Regina's soft chattering.

The servant entered again. "Mr. Darcy, ma'am." It was Emma's turn to look at the entrance. Killian's hand was still bandaged, but the rest of him looked perfect. His hair was longer and his face was tired, but his eyes held a sparkle she hadn't seen in months.

"My dear nephew," Lady Cora said before Killian could speak. "You lay unconscious for so long that when you finally rose, we feared you had joined the ranks of the undead." That week, when Killian lay as if he were dead, was the most frightening of Emma's life. "What is the word from the canal?"

"It's holding for the time being," Killian answered jovially. He glanced over at her and a smile formed on his face.

Just then, Emma heard Mary Margaret's ecstatic " _yes_!" from the adjoining room. All, even Lady Cora, laughed, and the three girls ran out of the room to join the newly engaged couple. Lady Cora nodded at Killian as she followed Mrs. Bennet out of the room.

Emma remained at the last of the group, however, and Killian's voice called her back. "Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy," Emma whispered. She couldn't help flushing slightly. "It looks as though you are fully mended."

Darcy raised an eyebrow rakishly. "I am, thank you." His expression turned completely serious. "If it wasn't for you, I would surely have perished. You have saved me in more ways than one." He looked suddenly bashful, and Emma allowed herself a little hope, but she didn't expect the next quiet words. "What you said to me on Hingham Bridge."

Her eyes widened. "You heard me?" she gasped out. She had never dreamed—he had been unconscious! In truth, she had thought he was too near death to acknowledge any of the living world.

Killian took a step closer. A tiny, unsure smile was forming on his lips. "Aye, that I did. It gave me hope."

"What?"

"That your feelings towards me may have changed," he said uncertainly. "However, one word from you now will silence me on this subject forever." Emma reached for him just as Darcy took that last step and took her hands in his. Emma felt that strong security, the presence that she loved and cherished, surround her. "You are the love of my life, Emma Bennet. My happy ending. So I ask you now. Half in anguish, half in hope." Killian took a breath as Emma began to smile. "Emma, would you do me the great, great honor of taking me for your husband?"

Emma couldn't contain her smile anymore. "Yes…yes!" Her words weren't as explosive as Mary Margaret's had been just a few minutes previously, but they were no less sure or full of conviction and love for the man before her.

Killian smiled, a grin spreading over his face, transforming him. He pulled her close to him, his eyes on her mouth. Emma threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and lifted her up so that their foreheads pressed together.

Emma eventually pulled away, saw Killian's smile, and giggled. Then they surged back together, the feeling of them, together, better than that of beheading an unmentionable or running toward a fight.

* * *

The double wedding preparations raced by, the two happy pairs scarcely appearing to assist Mrs. Ingrid Bennet with the planning, which was beneficial to all involved.

Finally, the important day came, several months after the battle at Hingham Bridge, and the four stood in front of Parson Collins. Graham smiled down at Emma and Mary Margaret, skipping over their neatly-suited fiancés. Killian, of course, wore his leather coat, something that Emma had not wished to fight him over and an argument that Ingrid had deemed unnecessary and unwise in which to engage.

Parson Graham Collins began the wedding ceremony without any sort of pomp or circumstance whatsoever. "We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman" he gave a quick motion toward Mary Margaret and David, his face turning slightly red "and this man and this woman" he motioned at Emma and Killian with only a small amount of confusion in his eyes "in holy matrimony. I now pronounce you man and wife… and man and wife. You may now kiss Mr. Darcy—the bride." Emma stifled a chuckle; she glanced at Killian's profile and saw his eyebrow raise and lower rapidly and a smirk grow on his lips. "You may now kiss the brides."

As Emma turned to Killian, he turned to her, and she leaned up, grabbing his lapels, and he leaned down, taking her face in his palms. As their lips met, Emma could have sworn she felt a new light race through her heart.

"Mrs. Darcy," Killian whispered as the applause from their friends forced them to separate. Emma laughed and brushed her mouth against his once more. With the newly branded Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, they stepped out into the sunlight.

The two couples were showered in seeds and flower petals. Mary Margaret and David smiled like the prince and princess they truly were. Emma grinned and Killian laughed. He wrapped his arm around her securely, his coat draping behind them.

For several minutes, nothing was wrong with their world.

Then Killian looked up, across the great yard of Rosings Park. Upon hearing the noise of many footsteps that had caught her husband's attention, Emma's eyes followed soon after. Emma glanced over at Mary Margaret, who was clutching David's hand and pointing across the grass.

A horde of unmentionables approached.

In unison, Killian and Emma Darcy reached for their swords. He looked down at her and she nodded. Whatever this was, whoever led the zombies that approached, they would face them together, as husband and wife, as true equals. No longer would they be alone.


End file.
